


It Starts and Ends with You

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce knows he should leave, knows the Joker isn't good for him, isn't what he needs- or is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Starts and Ends with You

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure _what_ this is. Two nights of listening to Halestorm's "Better Safe than Sorry" and this was born. Sort of a look at Bruce's mental ramblings over his relationship with the Joker...during, of course, the best time to contemplate these things- sex.

His hands twist in that green hair, the mess of curls that seems to be _alive_ around that pale face. Bruce is holding on, and he doesn’t know why, as nimble scarred hands roam over his naked body, exam skin they know by heart, scars they’ve caused and others they haven’t but have claimed regardless. Bruce is a conquered kingdom to him- he is emperor to a broken man, a population of one- two, if the Bat counts as his own entity.

Bruce is pulled onto his lap, can feel fingers prying and thrusting and he’s whimpering- broken sounding, pleading like always and he wonders _how he ever let himself be reduced to this_. He’s Batman, he’s the night, vengence, the one thing that holds Gotham together-

And he cries like a whore for this man- the single creature in the entire city that he should despise. Instead he needs him, craves him like a drug he can’t kick, a habit that consumes him, no matter the face he has on. IN the night he hopes to find him, seeks him out just to tangle in their sordid way-in the day he day dreams, he hopes for the surprise visits that he hates and loves and needs and _can’t go on without_.

The Joker’s hands are guiding his body, one holding his hips steady, the other on his own cock, guiding it into his body- Bruce cries out at the first thrust, has to get used to the feeling, despite the countless times he has _begged for this_.

His head drops forward, into the crook of the Joker’s shoulder, and he clings closer, wonders why he needs this so much. He could have anyone, every woman and man in Gotham would drop tot ehri knees to have Bruce Wayne court them. Except the Joker- he didn’t let Bruce court him, he took control and amde Bruce’s mind up for him. He _told_ him that he wanted him, told Bruce what he needed, and Bruce couldn’t deny it. Maybe it hadn’t been true until the man said it, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Bruce can hear the bed as it shifts beneath them, as the Joker guides Bruce’s movements on his lap, sets the pace and won’t let Bruce change it because this is _his_. Sex doesn’t belong to Bruce- it never has. It’s always been in the realm of the Joker- he has always told Bruce what to do, how to move, where to put his mouth. In the rare moments where Bruce is inside him, he still controls him wordlessly, his body letting Bruce know how he should fuck him, where his hands should be- should his nails draw blood, his teeth break skin- should he hold the man and let him go slow, or be ruthless. Always his choice.

They’re shifting before Bruce is aware- he’s pushed from the Joker’s lap and rolled onto his stomach, the man pressing along the curve of his back as he eases back into him. Bruce can’t move- can’t find the friction he needs, and he knows the Joker has planned this. He’ll cum and Bruce will be left begging to be touched- but that’s what he wants. He’ll get Bruce off and fuck him again until he’s a sobbing mess of desire and overloaded pleasure.

That’s how he likes Bruce the best- broken.

Bruce should walk away. He knows this. Should pack whatever the hell attraction he has to this man away in his gut and put his mask on and _beat_ him. Lock him up, throw away the key, and move on to other unhealthy outlets- always healthier than the Joker.

Maybe this is it- the last night. Bruce thinks it could be as he’s split open by the Joker’s body, even as the man hits nerves that send jolts of agonizing pleasure through his body, leave him nearly on the edge- if just for _one touch_.

He’s talking, the Joker. Huffing words into Bruce’s neck and ear, sweet nothings and vile somethings- words and pet names and desires for him, things Bruce has heard before but always feels like it’s the first time. Always send butterflies through his veins, set his belly to boiling. Still, he’ll leave- he knows he will. Bruce will lock everything up after tonight, the sickness of this all- the control this man has over him. He can’t do it anymore.

He groans despite it all because the Joker feels so _good_ \- he wouldn’t deny that, not now. Not after the countless couplings they’ve had. The Joker is saying his name- a fast paced mantra that means he’s _there_ -

And suddenly he’s pulling out, rolling Bruce over, driving back in with him on his back, legs splayed like the whore he is for the painted man, his hand wrapping around Bruce’s cock and pumping time with with his wild thrusts. Bruce cries out and arches because _this isn’t want he expected_ and it’s what he _needs_ \- he’s climaxing before the Joker, nearly screaming and clawing at the bed, his body’s convulsions spurring on the Joker’s own orgasm, milking him dry, until the two collapse to the bed, the Joker sprawled on top of Bruce, between his legs- lithe and lean and pale and _so gloriously horrible_.

“I knew it was what you, ah, need, baby,” he purrs and licks along Bruce’s pulse in his throat, feels the blood pumping wildly in veins under hot skin. Bruce closes his eyes and thinks to push him away- but the man knew what he needed and gave it. That was...

Was it unlike him? Bruce wants to think it is, but he’s not sure. The control...he hates it and loves it and maybe he needs it a little. Bruce wraps his arms around the Joker and holds him tight, lets him nuzzle skin and whisper his twisted love into the hot air of Bruce’s bedroom.

He won’t leave tonight. The fight is drained out of him. Maybe in the morning Bruce will see things differently, maybe he’ll take charge and leave and never look back-

But inside he knows he won’t- because the Joker hasn’t given him leave to. And everything comes back to this man- his scars and acidic emerald eyes and nimble hands and _knowing_ mouth. Everything starts and ends, lives and dies with him- and Bruce can’t break the cycle.


End file.
